


A Chirping Girl

by Amuscaria



Series: Dogs and birds [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuscaria/pseuds/Amuscaria
Summary: Sandor wants to take the next step in his relationship. Sansa has some different expectations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I‘m sorry for the late updates, I‘ve been dealing with some health issues, so I can‘t post new chapters as often as I‘d like to. Thanks for your patience.

Sandor looked around his flat. It didn’t look too bad, did it? Sansa had once complained that his flat lacked life, so Sandor bought a plant and surprisingly enough it hadn’t died yet. He’d even purchased candles, something he’d never needed before. He secretly hoped that his scars were less visible in a candle-lit room. He was wearing a suit as usual, this time one of his best ones. Sandor owned many custom made suits because of his profession and they made him feel a little more confident. A proper suit could make even an ogre look good, his mum had said. Sandor’s father had never wanted to wear them, but Sandor remembered mother’s words well enough. Ever since Sansa had moved to King’s Landing, he always wore nice clothes and always tried to smell good. Sandor almost looked like a respectable citizen now, mother would have approved. He’d washed his hair, too. He’d washed his hair and brushed it. With a brush.

The theatre had been quite bearable. Sandor wasn’t really that fond of opera, but the sight of his little bird smiling always made up for it. It was a bit more difficult when Sansa wanted to discuss every little detail of the show, but Sandor managed to nod just enough times and make one or two remarks that were somehow interpreted as very clever and thoughtful. Sansa was an adorable little critic. Sandor could listen to her excited chirping all day, even though she didn’t appreciate it when he smiled contently watching her make a very serious speech. She had brought a lot of new things into Sandor’s life. He would never have gone to the theatre or a concert without her, he wouldn’t have thought about the plays, he wouldn’t have danced or tried northern folk crafts. Every day with Sansa brought something new to his life and every day gave him a new reason to smile. Lady Sansa was his woman. His little critic.

Sansa unfortunately assumed Sandor loved Westerlands as much as she loved her home and she wanted to know everything about Westerlands’ food and customs. Sandor didn’t know a second thing about Westerlands’ traditions and he didn’t give a damn about them anyway. But tonight he had one of Barristan’s friends, a chef from Lannisport, cook for them a few traditional dishes. The little bird would finally get a taste of Sandor’s favourite childhood meals. He didn’t like being reminded of his childhood, and yet Sansa was obviously excited for every memory he shared with her. And Sandor wanted everything to be perfect tonight. Sansa always masterfully avoided every conversation about their relationship and Sandor wouldn’t let that happen tonight. He had to have some clarity. He desperately needed to know what they were doing, where they were heading. Was Sansa even truly his? 

Sandor had never had anything resembling a relationship, only one night stands, mostly paid, when he was too drunk to care. But with Sansa everything was different. She wasn’t after his money, she wasn’t even like those girls who just considered him a challenge and wanted a big cock only to whine that he was actually too big. He never cared about them. But Sansa wanted neither his money, nor a quick fuck, she cared for him, she genuinely enjoyed Sandor’s company. Sandor loved that, loved the new sort of intimacy that wasn’t based on anything physical. It was a completely new territory for him and it was as thrilling as it was frightening. He was prone to making stupid comments and he didn’t want to mess this up. Sansa liked hearing his opinions, his thoughts. They spent many nights together, talking about everything possible, and yet they never went further than kissing. And it was perfect anyway.

“Little bird,” he nuzzled her ear and buried his nose in her hair, drinking in her feminine scent. With Sansa in his arms he was the richest man in the world. He kissed her, tasted her sweet mouth. Her lips were soft and pliant, melding into his. Sandor needed this, needed to kiss her, touch her, make sure it was all real, she was really his. Sansa never allowed him to touch her in public and he constantly felt like a starving beast. He wanted to hold her hand and kiss Sansa anywhere anytime. He didn’t give a rat’s arse how many photos of himself he’d see in the papers. Why couldn’t the public know about them? Sandor was tired of hiding their relationship, he hated pretending. He wasn’t Sansa’s bodyguard, he was the man of her life and anybody who doubted that could try and say it to his face. Let the world know. Let them see.

“Sandor,” she put her small hand on his chest. “We should stop,” she said breathlessly. Her gorgeous face was all flushed and her lips were red and swollen. They were perfect. They needed to be kissed again. 

“Why?” he growled, tightening his hold of her. He didn’t want her to pull away from him again, why did she always stop him when it was getting good? “I want to kiss you everywhere, little bird,” he nibbled her collarbone. “You’re so beautiful, so bloody beautiful.”

“Sandor,” she pushed him away.

Sandor grunted, his mouth twitching. Yes, this relationship was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, yes, nothing had ever been more important to him. But he was still only a man, alright? He had the most captivating woman kissing him, how was he supposed to react? Sandor had lived like a buggering septon ever since Sansa started thinking about moving to King’s Landing. He’d struggled with an unhealthy obsession with the girl before, but after he had learned she’d live in the same city as him, it consumed him entirely. He never dared to hope, he initially wanted only to keep Sansa safe. King’s Landing was full of rats and liars, the girl had no idea what dangers she’d be facing. But Sandor and Sansa got very close soon, so close the girl kept touching Sandor, she even hugged him and kissed him and Sandor knew then that he was lost. 

Sansa was unlike any other woman. When he’d first met her, she was the star of a grand ball, a beautiful heiress from the distant North. Everybody wanted to be photographed with the striking debutante, everybody wanted to dance with her. At that time magazines kept printing one sensational article about Sandor after another and everyone treated him as a fascinating and dangerous curiosity. People were gossiping about him from afar, secretly taking unflattering pictures or giving him forced compliments. And she, Lady Sansa herself, she came to him, smiled at him, talked to him, joked with him about the grandeur of the event and her own insecurities. At the times of the worst media scrutiny, Sansa made him feel like a normal human being. She saw more in him than anyone else. When Sandor barked at her as he always did, she said she wasn’t scared of him. And when the lords and ladies greeted and praised Sandor’s brother, a celebrated army general, Sansa knitted her pretty brows in a frown and said Gregor wasn’t a true hero like Sandor. She saw Gregor for what he was, she didn’t care about his fame and decorations. She thought Sandor, the freak of the family, was better than him. She rather spent her time talking to Sandor than to any of the pretty boys and celebrities. Sandor didn’t know how to deal with it, how to react. He was rude to the girl, of course, because he was an idiot like that. But she never stopped with her kind smiles and polite chirping. 

Sandor hadn’t deserved Sansa’s kind words. He’d been a soldier, always obeying questionable orders, killing people who should have been protected instead. He’d been a royal guard, witnessing corruption and scheming, and staying silent about it. He’d been a drunk, drowning his guilt in alcohol instead of doing something about it. Sansa had praised him and he didn’t deserve anything of it. He was better than Gregor, but not by much. Sandor had been just a dog, a stupid, loyal dog, not thinking for himself. The conversation he’d shared with Sansa inspired him to stop drinking in excess and piss on all the lords and rotten generals. He started his own security company. He wanted to be a better man, a real man. He used to be obsessed with winning battles, fighting, or drinking. Now it was a girl occupying all his thoughts. And it was driving him crazy just as much.

He hated how attached he got to the girl, how important she’d become to him. Sansa could have anyone and it was difficult to believe that she’d really chosen him. But she had. When she was overcome with emotions, she herself made the first step and kissed him. In public. Even when she later shyly admitted she didn’t want to rush into anything, Sandor was thrilled that she was willing to give him a chance at all. 

But it was difficult now. Sandor wanted to keep Sansa safe, even from himself. He wanted to be the man deserving of Sansa’s kind words and affection, he wanted to be her hero, a true hero, he wanted her to see a future with him as well. His poor balls suffered for it dearly, though. Sandor had never gone very long without sex, even when he was in the army and recovering from various wounds, he still took care of his needs quite often. In the past years he was trying to get Sansa out of his head by various means, too, making himself feel dirty instead. But now for the first time in his life Sandor was in a relationship, he was in love, he had a woman he adored and who cared for him. It was quite enough how ugly and intimidating he looked, he didn’t want to pressure Sansa, make her uncomfortable. Even if it meant he wouldn’t get to do much more than kissing. He... Seven hells, he didn’t get to do anything more than kissing! Sansa hadn’t even let him run his hands over her soft body, Sandor had never seen her in her underwear. Six months. They’d been together for six months and when he now stroked her delicious butt through the layers of her clothes, she blushed and tittered and snatched his hand away. Was it normal? Did she secretly want to drive him mad? Six months! Six bloody months! 

Sandor reluctantly let Sansa out of his embrace. His cock was once again straining against his trousers, his muscles were tense, his whole body screaming for relief. But now was not the time. Now was the time to talk. Sansa had always avoided talking about their relationship, she chirped every time that he was ruining the romantic moment. Sandor didn’t care about the moment, he wanted the future. Their entire future.

The couple sat down to the table and tasted the creamy soup. Sansa definitely had a positive effect over Sandor’s eating habits. The times of easy take-outs were gone, he now had a proper dinner every night. Sandor glanced at Sansa, who took a moment to fold the napkins with her nimble fingers and she bit her lip in concentration. Sandor watched her spellbound for a moment, imagining those fingers running through his hair, caressing his chest, trailing down... Seven hells. The soup. He had to concentrate on the soup.

“…and have you noticed her dress?” Sansa still had a lot to say about the costumes. It was unbelievable how much she knew about costume designs. 

Sandor definitely noticed Sansa’s dress and the way it hugged her curves. And it wasn’t helping his current situation at all. “Was it inaccurate as well?”

“It was, but it was so pretty! And that teardrop necklace was the most perfect thing, I've always wanted to have something like that. And after she fell in love, she kept wearing the same flowers as the troubadour.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“And he was wearing the same ribbons as her, too!” Sansa’s face brightened as she explained to him hidden meanings behind various costumes. Sandor loved her enthusiasm, but his treacherous mind kept imagining much better ways how he could make her eyes shine even more. He’d kiss every inch of her skin, worship the perfection that was her body.

“It was so romantic!” she gushed.

Licking Sansa’s sweet cunt would be awfully romantic, too. Sandor could take her in the meadow, if she wanted flowers, make her sing with birds. Or in the castle, fuck his pretty princess into the medieval mattress. Anything involving Sansa would be beautiful and romantic, Sandor only had to make her see that he was no Theon Greyjoy. Sansa was obviously very wary in her new relationship and she was scared to commit. She never spoke about her past relationships, but she must have got hurt a lot by her previous boyfriend. She’d once said that Theon betrayed her and she never wanted to discuss the topic further. Sandor didn’t blame her. What could that ironborn piece of shit know about how to treat a lady? Sandor was determined to make Sansa happy. Always. Make her smile like this. Every day. And make love to her. Tonight, preferably. 

Sansa finished the soup and took a bite of the meat roulade with cranberries. “Ah, this is so good,” she hummed excitedly. Sandor knew well enough how much Sansa loved eating and trying out new foods, but he could never get used to all these little sounds. She couldn’t have done a better job at torturing Sandor if she’d planned it. “Are there any sheep running around?” 

“Sheep?” Sandor started to pay attention again. He hadn’t noticed any sheep at the opera house.

“There are always sheep in the pictures from Westerlands,” Sansa explained. “Are there around your house, too?”

“Ah, sheep,” Sandor finally understood. Why were they talking about sheep all of the sudden? “Sure, you can see them on the hills.” Sheep. Sheep. Were sheep now romantic as well? Sandor was starting to lose track of all the things Sansa considered romantic. Sansa’s optimistic world view kept scaring Sandor every day. Everything could be pretty, everything deserved love. Sansa never noticed people taking advantage of her, instead she saw their beautiful smiles, or a their romantic gestures, or a single nice act among dozens of crimes. Lady Catelyn had been very religious and wanted her daughter to be educated by septas. After her death Sansa’s knob of an uncle went along with it. He’d been so terrified that the Winterfell heiress could become yet another spoiled rich child, he rather brought her up sheltered from the world. How exactly it was supposed to be helpful, Sandor didn’t know. First raise the girl as naive as possible and then send her to the most rotten place, was that some sort of special Northern logic? Or retarded northern humour? 

Sandor scowled just thinking about it. They’d argued about Sansa’s trustfulness enough times, there was no reason to open the topic again. Sandor would rather say a thing or two to dear uncle Benjen. And all the septas. Who was educated by septas in this day and age anyway? Still, it was Sandor’s greatest fortune that Sansa could see beauty where no one could. She only needed time to adjust to normal life, she was already much better at standing up for herself. And she had Sandor now to help her, to keep her safe and happy. 

But she was staring at him expectantly. What was she waiting for again? Ah, the sheep. Sandor moved his chair closer to Sansa and bent over to whisper to her ear. “You could see it for yourself, little bird. We could go there on the weekend, I’d show you everything. Our family house, the forest,” he cooed in his raspy voice. “The sheep, if you want, the lambs. There are some nice tracks, too.”

Sansa leaned into his touch and Sandor’s heart leaped in his chest. He knew how to make his little bird happy, didn’t he?

Unfortunately, she composed herself quickly and pulled away again. She always pulled away from him. “This was so delicious, Sandor,” she finished the meal. “I can’t believe I’ve never tried this before.”

“Westerlands food is not bad, is it?” Sandor smiled. “You know, there’s a café near my house with some of the best cakes in Westerlands.”

“Really?” She bit her lip. The lip Sandor should have been biting.

“There are ruins of a castle nearby, too,” Sandor bravely kept a calm voice, concentrating on his persuasive arguments. “It’s full of history. And I know some tales about the place, too, about the knights.”

“And will you tell me?” she asked.

“Of course I will. When we’re there, I’ll tell you about the history of everything we see. When do you want to go, little bird?”

It had been very wise from Sandor’s mother to read to her son an old book of Westerlands’ tales. He could make a girl happy with them, who knew.

“You could tell me now,” Sansa suggested as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ve never heard any legends from Westerlands. Please, Sandor, you’re such a gifted story-teller.”

Sandor snorted in amusement, but then he realized the girl was being completely serious. Seven hells. Sandor loved it when Sansa was being affectionate with him like this, he always longed for more. She didn’t touch him nearly as often as Sandor would have preferred, but he’d never complain about it, he didn’t want to look like a desperate fool. Sansa spent her days being a perfectly composed, serious Lady Stark, the noble heiress, the future head of Winterfell Copper. It was a role that didn’t suit her and she didn’t like it, so Sandor wanted Sansa to relax in the evenings and be herself with him, do whatever she wanted. She could be insecure, she could be silly, she could be immature, but she felt safe being that way with Sandor and that was all that mattered. And her hand was now on his thigh, just an inch away from his cock, that somewhat mattered at the moment, too.

“Sansa,” Sandor groaned, pressing little kisses down her slender throat. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Sandor,” she admonished him, giggling. “Stop it, you’re tickling me!”

“Am I?” he smiled against her skin. “You haven’t answered me yet, little bird. When will we go to Westerlands?”

“It’s too soon, Sandor,” she claimed. “We can go to Westerlands some other time perhaps, there is no rush for that.”

No rush. No rush. Sansa didn’t want to rush into anything, she always kept thinking everything through. They’d been together for half a year and they had never travelled together, never woke up next to each other. Sandor didn’t like thinking anything through, he wanted to be with Sansa all the time. He wanted them to live together, be together, eat together, sleep together. They cared for each other, what was there to think about? He wanted everything. Now.

“I’m not rushing,” he grumbled. “I’m just asking on which date I should book the flight.”

“Not this month, Sandor, you know it’s the exam period.”

Exams. Exams preceded holidays, didn’t they? In one month Sansa would have holidays, she wouldn’t go to school. “We could go there after the exams then,” he agreed. “I was thinking about going to Summer Isles, too. Show the little birds the prettiest bird of all. But we could go to Westerlands first, if you want, climb up a few mountains and then relax by the sea, what do you think?” 

Sansa pulled away again, smiling the aristocratic smile Sandor couldn’t stand. Sansa used it whenever she was politely trying to get out of something very unpleasant. Sandor didn’t mind her using this noble expression to brush off anybody else, but he hated it when she smiled like this at him. He was Sansa’s man, he wanted an honest smile from her, a real one, or real anger, real sadness, anything, anything she felt, just not polite pretending. “It does sound very nice, Sandor,” she chirped. “I do want to visit Westerlands one day, but you know I have to go back to the North for the holidays.”

“When you return then. The holidays take three months, don’t they?”

“They do, but I’ll be spending all three months in the North,” she explained in her beautiful voice.

“Why?” He didn’t understand it. “We haven’t been together anywhere yet, little bird, we could go at least for a week. Think about it, a week, just the two of us.”

“It’s not possible, Sandor, you know I have a duty to my family.”

“I know, I know, family, duty and winter are coming,” Sandor snickered. “But what about your health, little bird? Seven hells, you’re nineteen, girl, nobody can expect you to work all year long without holidays!”

“I’m not working all year long, I’m studying, too.”

“And when will you rest, little bird?” he scowled. 

“At night,” Sansa giggled. Sandor didn’t find it very amusing. Sansa worked and studied too much in King’s Landing without finding any joy in it. She’d be working even more now. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right.

Sandor shook his head. “I’ll move there for those three months then,” he sighed. “I can help you. As long as there’s an internet connection, I can get my work done in the North, too.” It was obvious they’d be living in the North one day anyway, Sandor could just as well start getting used to it.

“Oh,” Sansa blinked. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, you think I’d rather be for three months without you?”

Sansa lowered her lashes and blushed, suddenly looking embarrassed.

“You thought I’d be three months without you?” Sandor repeated, incredulous. “Sansa, how in the seven hells could you think that?” he growled. “How...”

“No, no, Sandor,”she stood up and within a moment she seated herself upon Sandor’s lap, curling her thin arms around his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought I’d squeeze in two weekends to go to King’s Landing.”

It was just sounding worse and worse. What was Sandor to her anyway? A dog she could easily leave behind without explanation and return only when she had nothing better to do? “Two weekends? Two bloody weekends?”

“No, Sandor, please don’t be angry,” she nuzzled his cheek, kissing it. She brushed her fingers through his hair and planted soft kisses along his jaw, knowing perfectly well what affect she had on him. She wasn’t playing fair at all. “I didn’t realize you had other plans,” she confessed.

His little bird had really expected him to be without her for three months. She really had. Wouldn’t she miss him at all? Wouldn’t she long to be closer to him? “Sansa, what in the seven hells… we’re together, aren’t we?” he blurted out his fears without thinking. “I mean... a couple. We’re a couple.”

“Of course, we are a couple, why are you asking like this?” Sansa’s brows knitted together and she looked at him, pouting adorably. Sandor wanted to kiss her, but it had to wait.

“And we are...” he swallowed. “We’re exclusive, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not seeing anyone else.”

He anxiously watched for her reaction, but she was only frowning more and more. “Are you asking me whether I’m cheating on you?”

“No, I mean...”

“And how have you even got this idea? Are you cheating on me?” She was starting to be suspicious and her cute frown was replaced by a wolf-like expression. A suspicious little wolf.

“No, Sansa, I just wanted to be sure. That we’re together. Only together.”

“Hmm,” she said, her voice full of scepticism. “What are you trying to confess, Sandor?”

“What?” he asked, confused. “No, nothing! I’m just asking whether we’re exclusive.”

“Relationships are always exclusive,” she stated decidedly. 

“Well, that’s not... I used to... I mean, some people... well...” He scratched his head. Let’s not go there. No, no. With the speed in which Sansa’s expression was changing, she’d soon turn into a real wolf.

He tightened his embrace and kissed her ear softly. “So you’re mine, right?”

“Only if you are not cheating on me.”

“I’m not such an idiot to cheat on a perfect little bird,” he tried to reassure her, suddenly feeling very awkward. He rather kissed her again. He didn’t know how to put his feelings into words, it always felt stupid, he wanted to show it to Sansa instead. Seven hells, he wanted to show her. Sansa’s lovely ass was pressed against his hardening cock, didn’t she feel it at all?

“I could fly to King’s Landing every other weekend,” she offered.

“There’s no need. It’s really not a problem for me to move to the Noth, little bird.”

“No, Sandor, it’s very sweet of you, but somebody would notice in the North.”

Sandor was too occupied with kissing her bare shoulder to pay much attention to her words. He’d never known there could be such a thing as a sexy shoulder. But sure enough, Sansa had even two of them. “So what? There’s nothing to hide about our relationship, let people know.”

“But we’re not married!”

“Who cares?” Sandor gently bit the soft skin of her collarbone, making her shiver.

“I do,” she said breathlessly.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about people, you’re the only one that matters.”

Sansa pulled away from Sandor and gave him a reproachful look. “Sandor, stop it, you know we should avoid such temptation.”

Chirp, chirp, chirp. Sandor wanted to hear his lady use her lovely voice to moan his name in ecstasy. He’d make her beg for his cock soon, he would. Just the way she was looking at him now, those eyes, those lips… What was Sansa talking about again? And why was she straightening his tie? Sandor enjoyed when she did it, especially in public. It was the most intimate gesture she was willing to make in public and it seemed very possessive to Sandor. The tie had been a gift from her, too, a matching tie to her dress. Her tie, her man. Sandor always wanted Sansa to be possessive of him. But now, in the privacy of his flat, Sandor would have much preferred for Sansa to take the tie off and strip him naked instead. Did she dream about ripping the clothes off him? She was free to do so, no need to restrict herself.

She smiled at the tie approvingly. “I’ve told you that blue suits you best.”

Sure enough, even his balls were blue these days, bluer than her eyes.

“It suits you, too, little bird,” he cupped her face with his hands. “You look like an angel in that dress.”

“Really?” she blushed prettily.

“My little angel,” he nibbled her ear and she pressed herself to him again. Her face was flushed, her chest heaving, seven hells, her body was really reacting to him.

The dinner was over, but now was finally the time to feast. Sandor lifted Sansa up and carried her over to his sofa. She was so small and delicate in his arms, so wonderfully different from him. “My beautiful little angel.” He kissed his way down her neck, across her collarbone, and buried his face in the valley of her breasts. 

“Sandor,” she moaned, but there was no complaint in her voice, quite the contrary. When Sandor tentatively run his palms over her body, Sansa arched her back and pushed her breasts more firmly against his hands. Sandor could feel her nipples harden even through the layer of her dress. The dress. He quickly pulled it down, exposing a blue lacy bra. Sansa was so fucking gorgeous, Sandor had no idea how he could have waited this long. He was quickly losing the last shreds of self-control. He just had to taste every inch of her smooth skin, he had to claim her, make her...

Seven hells, he really was an idiot, wasn’t he? He’d prepared everything, he’d planned this. He’d never taken any woman to his flat, he wasn’t used to it, but it was still no excuse for leaving the condoms in his bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” he groaned, tearing himself away from her. Idiot, bloody idiot.

Sandor hurried to the bathroom, the tent in his trousers making him look like an even bigger fool. He quickly grabbed one condom, or two. He grabbed the package and rushed back, to the beauty on his sofa. But she’d already pulled the dress back up.

“Sandor, I should go. It’s late and I don’t think...”

“No,” he quickly silenced her with his mouth. “No,” he pulled her under him and stroked her thigh, trying to nudge her legs open. He loved Sansa's legs, they were perfect. So long and soft, Sandor needed to be nestled between them.

“Sandor, we can’t do this!” she protested feebly, but eagerly kissed him back.

“We have to,” he groaned against her throat. “I need you Sansa, I know you do, too.” He tried to take her dress off, but Sansa held it in place with her hands.

“Sandor, don’t make this even harder,” she whined. “Please.”

Harder? Sandor wasn’t the one making things hard in this bloody room. Just Sansa’s scent alone could make a dead man come alive. But Sansa pushed Sandor away and she sat up. “I should go,” she straightened her dress, while her hair remained tousled alluringly around her flushed face. She’d never had a better hairstyle. 

“Why?” Sandor didn’t understand anything. She wanted him, he was sure of it. Sansa Stark wanted him inside her body and she should never be denied anything.

She took a deep breath. “We both need to calm down now, Sandor, you know we can’t do these things before the wedding!”

“What? What wedding, why?”

Sansa pouted and started to chirp something about the Seven. Seven hells. A wedding, a wedding. Was that all it took? Chirp, chirp, chirp. How long could it take to get married anyway? A week? A month? Seven hells, Sandor wasn’t prepared to wait that long, surely he could arrange it faster. Weddings didn’t actually take much, Sandor only needed to get a few papers, some cloaks and flowers, a guest or two and a white dress. He already had enough suits, he was always ready. Mother would have approved. He didn’t need a week to arrange a wedding. Sandor looked at his little bird. She was so damn perfect. Sandor would take care of everything, she didn’t need to worry. Sansa was only chirping now, but she'd be singing at the altar soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was actually a great idea. A marriage. Sandor hadn’t done much thinking about marriage before, but now it seemed like the greatest thing in the world. Sansa and Sandor Clegane, a wife and a husband. It really did have a proper ring to it, didn’t it? Living in the same flat, sharing the same name. And the same bed, never forget about the bed. They’d do a lot of bed-sharing, but they’d share everything else, too. A bath, for example. Sandor stretched out in his bathtub, imagining Sansa being right there with him. He’d be such a tolerant husband he’d even bear a bubble bath for her. He’d carefully wash Sansa, brush his fingers through her silky hair and carefully rub her shoulders. He’d kiss each of her fingers and gently wash her arms before cupping her breasts in his palms. It took a lot of time to wash such soft teats, didn’t it? Her skin was so smooth and delicate, Sansa probably spent half an hour washing just this part of her body, never mind the rest. Sandor wouldn’t underestimate the hygiene, of course, he’d give her body all the attention it needed. She’d sigh into his mouth and rub her butt against his cock and then… Sandor blinked, quickly looking around, suddenly horrified. Seven hells, his bathtub wasn’t big enough! He had to buy a new one right away. Why were all the bathtubs so small anyway, were all bathtub designers imps or what?

He’d buy a new bathtub. With a new house. Sansa had said she wanted to have a garden full of flowers and even though Sandor’s savings couldn’t even compare with the Stark wealth, he wanted to make a perfect home for his little bird in King’s Landing. And a perfect home certainly couldn’t include Cersei Lannister as a neighbour. Sandor wanted to get out of the Red Keep as soon as possible. They’d have a small cosy house, where Sansa would have all the comfort to study and relax. And Sandor would spend more time working from home. 

He’d buy a house. With the decision made, Sandor stepped out of the bathtub and looked into the mirror. He should have thrown out the thing long ago, the damn mirror always showed him the ugliest man he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just his face, his war wounds really perfected the mess. He’d had severe burns on one of his arms, so now he had one overly hairy arm and one almost completely hairless. The buggering Seven had probably decided he needed something to match the melted skin on his face and scalp. Sandor brushed his hair, untangling the strands. It still looked awful. Jaime had told him he’d look better if he had some hair transplanted into his scar. Did Sansa think it, too? Would she be more attracted to Sandor if he opted to have those reconstructive surgeries he was avoiding? Sandor’s father never wanted his son to undergo more operations, he didn’t want anybody to pay any more attention to his accident than necessary. As Sandor grew the scars got even worse and Sandor couldn’t take the time back. He had hoped that even belated reconstructive surgeries would help and he used his first salaries for it. But the first surgery was more than enough to shake him from his dreams. Sandor ended up with too many complications and the final result of the whole ordeal were just scars. More scars. As if the burn scars weren’t enough, he now had surgery scars around his missing ear, too. The doctors assured him it would be different next time, they’d try to reconstruct the ear in a different way and it would all be just beautiful. But Sandor didn’t believe it any more, he’d wasted enough of his childhood in hospitals, he didn’t want to continue the same way in his adulthood as well. And for what? He’d never be handsome anyway. But he’d never discussed the topic with Sansa. She probably wanted him to have at least some operations, didn’t she?

And now there would be more photos of Sandor. The wedding photos. Seven hells. There would be only the septon to take their pictures and Sandor had already instructed him to take the pictures only from his good side, but it wasn’t enough. Sansa would forever have her wedding photos ruined by a giant monster with a melted face. Sandor stared at his reflection, imagining Sansa’s disappointment at seeing their photos. Wasn’t it possible to make all the wedding photos without a bridegroom? Sansa was so beautiful she’d make their wedding photos perfect all by herself. 

Sandor shook his head. Now was not a good time for more doubts. Sansa had chosen him and he could keep her safe unlike some other gnats. Sandor was rather confident about the wedding. He’d found an understanding septon, who was elated someone wanted to give money to his sept at all. It was a beautiful spot, which Sansa was sure to love. Sandor had had a contract prepared, so that the couple could keep their wealth separate and the Starks didn’t fret about Sansa possibly losing her inheritance. Not that Sandor would ever let their marriage fall apart, Sansa was his forever. But it was wiser to make sure finances would never become an issue in their relationship. All that was left for them to do now, was to enjoy their day. Sansa even loved the white dress Sandor had bought for her. The little bird had been surprised with the unexpected gift, she thought it was just a beautiful summer dress, not knowing she’d be getting married in it. But it would be Sandor who’d take the dress off her. Today was the day he’d finally make love to her.

Sansa had passed all her exams and after some hesitation she finally agreed to spend a week with Sandor in Summer Isles. Sandor now snorted when he remembered how they had booked two separate rooms. Sansa really had no idea she was going away for her honeymoon.

Sandor got dressed and once again carefully combed the hair over his scars. When he knocked on Sansa’s door, he felt nervous like a greenboy. 

But Sansa didn’t open the door for him. “Come in, Sandor!” she called out instead.

She wasn’t ready yet, of course. As usual, Sansa was sitting behind her desk, looking into her computer.

Sandor walked over to her. “Sansa?”

“I’m sorry, Sandor, I’ll be ready in a moment,” she chirped without even looking up. “I just have to send this one email.”

Sandor walked over to her and knelt down, breathing in her hair and nuzzling Sansa’s neck from behind. “Good morning, little bird,” he rasped into her ear, excited that Sansa was already dressed in her wedding dress. The white fabric contrasted magically with her auburn hair and Sandor’s hand trembled as her touched such beauty. His bride. His perfect, chirping bride. It was really happening. Even if Sansa had her eyes only for the computer.

“Is it still the same email for your uncle?” Sandor asked.

“It is, but I just want to check the numbers once more before sending it.”

“You have already checked them once more seven times,” Sandor murmured and gently nipped at her skin, his hands running over her stomach and thighs. The dress would be very easy to take off. That was the most important thing about all wedding dresses, he knew.

“Ten times.”

“What?”

“I’ve checked them ten times. But when uncle puts so much trust into me, I want to...”

Sandor traced a line down her neck to her collarbone and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. Sandor loved how her body reacted to his touch. It was unbelievable, but he could really turn Sansa Stark on. It was a heady feeling, but just like so many times during the last week, Sandor tore his lips away from her and took a moment to regain his senses. How was he supposed to stay calm around Sansa? He was much stronger and bigger than most men, but he didn’t have superpowers like this. Sansa was melting under his touch, trembling with need. It wouldn’t be difficult to get her to bed at all. Still, Sansa wanted to wait and Sandor didn’t want her to be disappointed for the rest of her life because of a momentary lapse and his impatience. In a few hours she’d be his anyway, he could wait this long. A few hours.

“What do you want, little bird?” Sandor continued in the conversation.

“I...” she said breathlessly. “I want to be sure.”

“You’re paying your accountants to be sure.”

“I know, I’m just so nervous… Uncle is trusting me so much and...” She let out another delightful sound.

“And?”

She didn’t reply. Sandor wasn’t the most patient man. He lifted his bride out off the chair like a doll and placed her on the desk, her beautiful face finally turned to him.

“Sandor!” she gasped, trying to jump off the table. But Sandor caged her there, taking his place between her legs, as he cupped her head and continued to kiss her throat. 

“Sandor, I have to send the email!”

“You’ve been saying that for two days.” Sandor nipped at her skin. It was pliant and supple under his lips and so, so delicious.

“Yes, but I needed to be sure I have everything right…”

“You have everything right, little bird. You always have everything right. You’ve even chosen the right man,” Sandor grinned at her.

“Sandor, stop it! I can’t be sitting on these documents!”

“Hmm? How about I shagged you on them then?” 

“Sandor!” she gave him a scandalized look. “You are horrible, how can you talk like this?”

“Is it bad?”

“Yes!”

“I beg forgiveness, my lady, I’lll be more accurate next time,” Sandor assured her and moved her hair aside from her neck, running his tongue over her skin. “How about I lick your sweet cunt right away then, so that you don’t drip on these very important documents?” Sandor stroked her thighs.

“Sandor,” she whimpered. 

“Yes, my lady?”

“Stop it, why must you always be so awful?”

“I can be even more awful, you know? I dreamt about it tonight. In my dream you didn’t want to leave your school for days, so I had to come over there and explain to you that there are other things to life.”

“That’s not so awful.”

“Of course not. I sat you down your desk in my dream, too. And do you know, what I did then?”

“No,” Sansa cheeped.

“You didn’t want to leave the classroom and I had to have you. So logically, I had to shag you right then and there, hadn’t I? I lifted up your skirt,” Sandor lifted up her skirt, stroking her thigh. “And I tore away your knickers in front of the whole school,” he touched her underwear, making her gasp against his mouth. She was soaking wet. For him. For him! Seven hells. Sandor pressed his hardness against her. “And then I had to spread your legs and hold you in place as I buried my cock deep into you. You were wet, you know? Just like now.”

“Stop it,” Sansa complained, not very convincingly.

“Everyone was watching as I fucked you, everybody heard your moans. Everybody knew how wet you were for me, how I made you come. And I fucked you even harder...”

“Sandor, stop it, you know we can’t!”

“But you want to, right?” he breathed into her ear. “You want to. You want my cock inside of you, even now.”

Sansa didn’t say anything, but the way she kissed him back told Sandor everything he needed to know. Sansa cupped his face and planted soft kisses all around it. Sandor wished she wasn’t so damn gentle with him all the time, but there would be time for that later. The most important thing was that Sansa accepted him, she wanted to be with him. They’d really get married. Sandor would learn how to be tender, Sansa would learn how to use her claws. They’d be together for the rest of their days.

“I’ll just send the email and I’m ready to go, Sandor,” Sansa chirped, blushing beautifully. Sandor couldn’t help but steal one more kiss, before letting her on the ground. She didn’t check the numbers again and just send the email.

“Well,” she smiled then, brushing her hair. There was something very erotic about the way she kept touching it. “Where are you taking me?”

“I found a beautiful little chapel I want to show you. It’s a nice walk there, just an hour away from here, but it’s on a hill and you can see the whole city from there.”

“Oh, that sounds so lovely! Should I pack a snack?”

“No, no, let’s just go,” Sandor told her impatiently. They’d be getting married in three hours, yes, they did have time, but not too much to waste. Sansa never walked very fast, she always kept stopping to admire everything.

Sansa smiled sweetly and obediently followed Sandor. They took their two trusted witnesses, Lady and Stranger, and headed towards the little sept. When they stepped into the forest, the sound of cars was quickly replaced by a murmur of leaves and joyful songs of birds and Sandor felt a relief wash over him. He always preferred to be alone with Sansa, away from the civilization. And just like he had anticipated, Sansa loved the beautiful meadow they passed and she immediately started picking up one flower after another. Soon she had an entire bouquet, but this time when she wanted to toss it into a small waterfall, Sandor caught her hand. “It’s a pity to waste such beautiful flowers,” he rumbled in her ear.

His response seemed to please Sansa. She was obsessed with flowers, Sandor never understood it. And not only flowers. Whenever she saw forest berries, she just had to pick them up. That wasn’t so bad, actually, she tasted of strawberries now and Sandor enjoyed it when she brought some berries to his lips, too. Sansa didn’t often show her affection very openly, she didn’t touch Sandor by far as much as he’d like to, so it were these small gestures that made Sandor feel her love for him.

Still, the slower Sansa walked, the more nervous Sandor grew. He should have known it would take them such a long time to get to the sept. Most people didn’t climb up the hills so fast as he did, Sansa in particular. But Sandor wasn’t planning on missing his own wedding.

“Sansa, how about we just get to the sept and admire the nature on our way back?”

“Why? There is no hurry, Sandor, we have an entire day. And look how beautiful the forest is!” she rejoiced, before suddenly squatting. 

“Sansa?”

“Look at this beetle, it’s so cute, he has golden wings!” Sansa just had to start taking pictures of a perfectly common beetle.

“And he doesn’t want you to bother him,” Sandor grumbled.

Sansa stood up, glancing at Sandor critically. “Sandor, why can’t you just enjoy yourself?”

“I can,” he shrugged. “Not sure you’d like that, though.”

“Of course I would!”

Sandor smirked and scooped her up in his arms, carrying his bride away from the buggering beetle. He didn’t have time to admire every stone and leaf in the forest.

“Sandor!”

“What? I’m just enjoying myself!”

Sansa weighed much less than Stranger, was it healthy? Sansa looked healthy, but it seemed strange than someone could weigh less than a dog. A blissful smile spread over Sansa’s face and she smoothed her hand over Sandor’s chest, leaning against it. Stranger never did that, he usually just drooled all over Sandor. Or happily licked his face. He was an affectionate little beast with a lot of saliva. Sansa had never licked Sandor’s face, though. But she looked happy and that was the most important thing.

“You’re horrible,” Sansa said contently and let Sandor carry her to the sept. When Sandor finally climbed up to the top of the hill, he kissed his bride and gently set her on her feet.

“Oh, this is like something out of a fairy tale!” Sansa gushed as soon as she saw the sept.

“You like it?”

“Oh, yes, it’s perfect. I can’t believe more people aren’t here!” Sansa walked around the thousand years old sept. “Thank you for taking me here,” she kissed Sandor on his cheek.

Sandor smiled sheepishly. This was even better than what he’d dreamed about. “I have many more places to take you, little bird. We’ll travel a lot together, won’t we?”

She just smiled, taking pictures of the building. She took a long moment to admire the building from outside, but fortunately they had enough time now and Sandor didn’t have to worry any more.

“Look at those stones! How do you think the people brought them up here? There’s no road!”

“A horse could get here, I guess. Or people carried them themselves. Doesn’t matter. Come, little bird, don’t you want to look inside?”

As they stepped into the sept, the still, cool air offered a welcome relief from the summer heat. 

“It’s so peaceful here,” Sansa whispered. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Sandor agreed, proud all his effort hadn’t been worthless. “It’s a perfect place for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, I can totally see a small, very intimate wedding happening here! I’m just not sure how any grandma would climb up the hill,” she giggled. “Look, there are even fresh flowers here, perhaps somebody has really got married here today!”

“No, actually, not yet,” Sandor said, his voice tight with emotions. He still couldn’t believe his luck, getting married to this amazing woman.

“You think someone is coming?” Sansa wondered.

“Yes, Father Gautvin. He… he will be marrying us today, little bird,” Sansa announced, feeling tears form in his eyes. He quickly composed himself, watching for Sansa’s reaction.

Sansa stared at him for a moment in silence. She didn’t jump in his arms yet, but Sandor patiently gave her the time to process the happy news.

“What do you mean?” she finally interrupted the silence.

“The septon is coming to marry us. It will be just like you said, a small, intimate wedding only for us. Apparently we don’t even need anyone to stand witness, the septon is enough.”

“A wedding,” Sansa repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yes.”

“And who is getting married?”

“We are. Me and you. Together,” Sandor grabbed both her hands, looking down at her lovingly. “Don’t worry, little bird, I took care of everything. I even have my cloak,” he proudly lifted up the cloak that had been hidden under a pew.

“Married? You mean… as in… getting married?”

“Yes,” Sandor kissed her, too impatient to wait for her proper, delighted response. “There will be nothing standing between us ever again.”

“Getting married today?”

Sandor nodded. She was finally starting to understand.

Sansa swallowed several times, before looking around herself in confusion. “And you didn’t think you could… ask me? Perhaps?”

“I did,” Sandor reminded her. Sansa looked so adorably puzzled, he nuzzled his nose into her hair.

“You did?” she raised her voice slightly, pushing him away to look into his eyes.

“I asked you many times whether you want me.”

“Well… we’ve never spoken about a wedding.”

“We have, you’ve explained to me how important it’s to you, remember?” Sandor stroked her cheek. “I figured there’s no reason to wait.”

“So you thought it’s a good idea to plan a wedding without asking the bride whether she wanted it?”

“You’ve already said you wanted a wedding.”

“But… it doesn’t mean we should get married today, does it?”

“Why not? The only thing that matters is that we want to be together. Come here, little bird,” he kissed her again, stroking her hair. “Stop worrying about every little detail all the time. Let’s just enjoy ourself today, alright?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Sandor, why don’t you understand? We’ve been together only for a few months!”

“Two hundred and four days, that’s not just a few months, little bird.”

“Two hundred…” Sansa blinked. “Sandor, don’t be creepy.” she admonished him, unimpressed. “It’s simply too early to be making such important decisions!”

“Why?”

“Why? Sandor, are you even listening to me?” 

“Of course I am, little bird, I always listen to you. That’s how I know you want to marry first, so let’s marry.”

“But not like this! I want… I want to know my husband, I want to have my family’s blessing, I want… I want the simple things, a normal wedding. With actual people!”

The ancient door creaked and Sandor pointed to them. “Look, Father Gautvin!”  
“It’s such an honour to welcome you to this humble place of the Seven, my lady. My name is Gautvin and I will be leading the service today.”

“Forgive me, father, but I need to talk with Sandor in private now.”

“Of course. You have all the time you need,” the man gave them a knowing smile and left to polish some figurines of the Seven.

“See?” Sandor turned to his bride. “The septon is an actual person.”

“I have never seen him before, Sandor. How could I ever get married without my family’s presence?”

“What’s wrong with that? I don’t mind having no family around.”

“Well, my family is different,” Sansa snapped. “Sandor, why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to be with you, damn it. I don’t care about a buggering wedding, I care about our marriage and the rest of our lives!”

“Well I won’t have a marriage without a proper wedding and without even knowing my husband!”

“This is a proper wedding, I’ve taken care of all the legal issues. And you know me,” Sandor said stubbornly.

“But not enough! We don’t know each other yet, we even don’t know what we feel for each other!”

“Of course we do, we love each other, why else would we be together?”

“Well, it’s not as simple as that, is it?”

“No, it’s actually even simpler than that, little bird,” Sandor scowled.

“Obviously not, because you’ve never even said you loved me!”

“I call you my love all the time,” Sandor reminded her defensively

“Yes, but you’ve been saying that since the beginning. You’ve never spoken about your feelings.”

“Feelings,” Sandor sneered. “You really want me to sing you pretty songs, say some pretty words? Bugger that, I love you, little bird, I want you, I’ll do anything to keep you safe and happy for the rest of our lives,” Sandor spat passionately. “A dog will die for you, but never lie to you. Flowery words are for the likes of Loras Tyrell, we have more than that, Sansa.”

“But… but words are important, too, Sandor! Like when you tell a woman what you feel for her. Or when you ask her to marry you before organizing a wedding, Seven have mercy! You can’t just bull rush into everything!”

“Why not? It’s worked for me in every fight.”

“Well, I’m not your enemy. I need you to tell me things, ask me before making decisions for me!”

“Alright,” Sandor shrugged. “Will you marry me?” He hugged her to himself, trying to calm her down.

It seemed to do the opposite, because she pulled out of his grasp immediately. “No!”

“What do you mean?”

“Sandor, I don’t want a wedding like this, without my family.” Sansa had hands on her hips, her hair was flying around her face, lashing the bare skin of Sandor‘s arms. The little bird was angrily fluffing up her feathers and she looked like a bloody goddess. “I don’t know you enough and I won’t be pressured into getting married!”

“Who is pressuring you, little bird?”

“You are!” She glared at him.

Chirp, chirp… Well, it actually wasn’t chirping any more. Not at all. Sansa was barking at Sandor as if she was already a Clegane and the man couldn’t help but smile proudly the sight. Somehow Sansa managed to get even sexier when angry. Her skin was flushed, eyes throwing daggers at him, her voice full of passion. She looked as if she wanted to rip Sandor apart with her bare hands and Sandor really wanted her to try. Seven hells, she’d be really rough with him, wouldn’t she? Sandor imagined his little bird clawing at him furiously. Yep, he’d like that. He’d really like that. He couldn’t wait for their marital disputes. 

But Sansa was still heatedly preaching about the importance of a family and family’s blessings and Sandor very wisely decided it was not the appropriate time to tell her how hard she was making him. 

“Do you understand?” she finally asked. 

“I do, little bird, we’ll celebrate it with your family later, too. I’ll even go to a big party, if you want. But right now I’ll change into the suit and we’ll get on with the wedding, what do you say?”

“Oh, so you’ll get to change into a fresh suit and I’ll stay in a sweated dress, is that it? Sandor, are you even listening to me at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s crazy. This whole thing is crazy. You are crazy!”

Sandor grinned. “Crazy about you,” he caged her in his embrace and kneaded her delicious buttocks. “Seven hells, you’re so sexy when you’re angry,” he rasped into her ear seductively.

“Stop it!” she spat. “You can’t think of anything else but sex! That’s the reason, isn’t it? You want to marry me just to get me into bed!”

“No, I just want us to be together, you know that.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, I don’t even know I’m getting married!” she was getting more and more agitated.

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“Yes. When you surprise me with a lemon cake. Not a wedding!” She shook her head. “You know what, Sandor? I think I can’t do this any more.”

“Do what? Argue?”

“No, this relationship, this…” she sighed. “I think I’d better go now,” she turned around and walked away from Sandor.

Sandor quickly grabbed her arm. “Little bird...”

“And don’t follow me!” she barked out, yanking her arm out of his grip.

Sandor stopped in his tracks, looking after his woman in surprise. What was this about? Sansa had woofed at him like an adorable little wolf, she’d been enraged almost as he himself used to be. His northern wolf had finally grown some fangs and she simply had to test them on Sandor on their wedding day. It was just about his luck. It made him feel… proud? Not a lot of people would have been able to stand up to Sandor like this, he actually didn’t remember anyone ever doing that. Sansa was such a wonderful woman, and getting even better by the day. He’d be there, he’d see her grow and blossom into a mother, he’d be there to see her bark at their children, he’d be there to see her as an old, wise grandmother with a head full of white hair and a smile on her face. He’d be there.

Sansa wanted to get to know Sandor better, alright. It wasn’t a hard task. They’d go for their holiday to the Summer Isles, they’d spend an entire week together in there and Sansa would learn about Sandor everything she wanted to know. He’d ask her to marry him after this very informative week, he’d get it right this time, even with her family’s blessing and she’d be happy. Sandor gave the septon a wolfish grin and strode to catch up with his little bird. They’d be back at the altar soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor wasn’t stupid, he knew his little bird was furious. It was just difficult to understand why.

“We’ll invite your family, little bird, alright?” he suggested, running after her like a dog. “We’ll make it big, in the Great Sept or something.”

“Sandor, you’re not getting the point!” she sped up.

“I am,” he defended himself. “You want a big wedding, I get it. And it’s fine, you can have the biggest wedding in Westeros, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“No, no, no!” Sansa shook her head vehemently. “All I want is to have a say in when I marry. Where I marry. And whom I marry! What’ so difficult to understand about it?”

Sandor didn’t like the sound of it one bit. “What do you mean whom?” he growled. “You’ll be marrying me, that’s whom.”

“No, I won’t, Sandor. We’ve broken up!”

“No, we haven’t,” Sandor scowled at such nonsense. “You’re mine.”

Surprisingly enough, it didn’t make Sansa’s expression any less hostile. And it didn’t make her slow down at all. Her heels were furiously digging into the ground and she was basically running without running. She did have amazing legs for it, Sandor had to give her that. When Sandor was angry, he looked even uglier, his scars twisting, pulling his features askew. When Sansa was angry, her lips were set in a delicious pout and her hips were swaying in the most alluring manner. How could she walk like that?

Sandor sighed. “Little bird, I’m sorry for today,” he said, his long legs easily allowing him to keep up Sansa’s pace. He’d fucked everything up as usual, hadn’t he? His gestures weren’t worth a shit, so all he could do was to be honest with his little bird. “It’s just… I want us to move forward, Sansa. I dreamt about you for years, but I’d never dare to hope for anything and having you now...” 

“Years?” Sansa interrupted him, finally stopping in her tracks. She turned to him in surprise. “You’ve never mentioned you felt for me anything before.”

Seven hells. Sandor shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. If Sansa thought it was creepy for him to know how long they’d been together, what would she think now? “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” her grumbled. “I’ve been in love with you for years, that’s why I get so carried away sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sandor rasped in annoyance, feeling like a buggering schoolboy. So much for him trying to be romantic. “I never hoped I’d get to be with you and now that we’re together, I want to be there for you, cherish you for the rest of our lives,” he run his fingers through his hair. “And when you mentioned marriage, it really looked like the perfect thing. And…” Sandor’s voice broke and he looked away before he made an even bigger fool of himself. 

“Sandor,” Sansa said softly and brought his face down to hers. “Why do you never say these things to me?” 

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. You just say that you want me, or that you could… you could spend all night with me...” she blushed.

“I use different words for that,” Sandor smirked.

“But you never tell me you love me!” the beauty finished.

“I’m not a buggering knight of your songs, Sansa,” Sandor grunted. “Just look what happens when I try to be one.”

“But I need to know, Sandor. I need you to tell me what you feel. Other than arousal.”

She was too bloody close to him. Sandor yearned for her kiss, her sweet, tender lips touching his own. He needed her to hug him and kiss him and tell him she’d give him one more chance. But she didn’t do any of those things.

“Sandor, I don’t even know what I feel for you,” she admitted quietly. “I’m very happy with you and I think of you all the time, too, but… I don’t know whether it’s love yet. I need time, I don’t want to rush into anything.”

Of course it was love. Nobody would be able to kiss Sandor like that, cuddle with him and spend so much time with him. Nobody would smile at him and caress his scarred cheek. Nobody but a woman in love. Luckily, Sandor realized it was not an opportune moment to inform Sansa about her feelings for him.

“It doesn’t matter, little bird,” he tentatively stroked her hair. “I love you,” he whispered. “I want to be with you, I want to marry you and have little birdlings with you. I want it all as soon as possible, you know that. But I want you to be happy first and foremost, I want you to take as much time as you need.”

“Do you? Do you really, Sandor?”

“Well, I might try to convince you that getting married is the best thing,” Sandor teased. “But I’m just an old dog, Sansa, when I get overly excited, you can always just smack my butt.”

“Sandor!” she admonished him, a small smile forming on her lips.

Of course it was difficult for Sansa to accept her own feelings for a man like Sandor. He was hardly a man of girls’ dreams. Her family would be appalled to see the man of Sansa’s life, newspapers would produce plenty of new gossip about them, nobody would understand what the couple shared. It was natural for Sansa to tread warily. It had been selfish of him to rush her into marriage, but he hadn’t lost her, had he?

She nuzzled her face against Sandor’s shirt, breathing him in. “Very well, then. But you won’t try to pressure me into something like that again, do you understand?”

“I do, Sansa. I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” he murmured into her hair. “I never wanted to pressure you in the first place, I’ll never do it again.”

“Alright,” Sansa took his hand and they walked home as two lovebirds again. The more and more Sandor thought about what had just occurred, the more it scared him. Sandor kissed Sansa once more, assuring himself that she was still there, still with him. He really had to make sure he wouldn’t fuck this up.

Sansa actually seemed rather happy. She asked him twice what he felt for her and he had to repeat to her that he loved her, he loved her bright eyes, he loved the cute freckles on her nose, he loved to bury his face into her soft hair. Seven hells, it was bloody embarrassing how much he loved her. It had always been obvious what Sandor felt and it was utterly ridiculous to talk about it. But Sansa was so delighted, Sandor confessed to his most intimate feelings even without torture.

Unfortunately, once they approached the Red Keep, Sansa started acting weird again. “Why wouldn’t we go on holiday?” Sandor pressed her for a clear answer, perplexed by her behaviour. “It’s all paid and ready for our arrival.”

“But it’s too early for us, Sandor, we clearly need to slow down a bit.”

“That’s what’s holiday for, little bird,” Sandor reminded her. He engulfed Sansa’s slender form with his much bigger one and tenderly stroked her back. “You’ve been studying all year long, working in your supposedly free time, working on weekends… you can’t go on like this,” he started kissing her smooth skin.

“And you’re the one who decides what I am to do?”

He moved his lips from her neck to her ear, kissing her along that path. “No, I’m the one who will take care of anything you need,” he breathed into her ear, making her shiver in his arms. “You’re my little lady, you deserve a week of being treated like one.”

Sansa truly needed some rest. Sandor wanted to be married to Sansa, but in the end he was excited to be with his little bird at all. She was too precious, he’d take care of everything and give her the best holiday of her life. He’d pamper her, he’d make her laugh a lot and she’d forget all about work and her worries. Sandor would make her happy.

But Sansa pulled away. “I can take care of myself quite well, thank you very much.”

Sandor stared at his little bird in surprise. “Is there something wrong?”

“What do you think?” Sansa bit out.

“I don’t know, you sound a bit angry.”

“Oh, really?” she said sarcastically.

“Are you angry?” Sandor inquired in increasing suspicion. 

“No, not at all, I’m fine,” she replied in a not-very-fine tone. “It’s you who has a problem.”

“What problem?”

“Oh, let me think. Who told me I shouldn’t let others control me? Who told me I should do whatever I want? Who told me even the best intentions of others might not serve me well?”

“I’d use different words,” Sandor reminded her once more.

“I don’t care! And I don’t care what you think is best for me. You won’t be telling me what to do, Sandor. I don’t want to go to Summer Isles with you. And you, mister, you’ll respect it!”

“Fine,” Sandor snarled. “You could have said something.”

“I am saying something, Sandor!” she exclaimed.

The couple was interrupted by an annoyingly soft voice. “Oh, my sweet Sansa, finally!” Petyr Baelish rejoiced, his rat face looking particularly punchable today. “I’ve been looking for you all day!”

Sandor opened his mouth, but Sansa replied faster than him. “Uncle Petyr? I’m sorry, but this is not the best time.”

“But I have to speak to you in the most urgent matter, sweetling,” Petyr tried to look distraught. Then he glanced at Sandor as if he’d just noticed him, looked him up and down and turned to Sansa again. “Let’s talk in the privacy of your flat, shall we?”

“No, I’m sorry, uncle, I really need to go now.”

“I must insist. Come, sweetling, it’s something very important.”

“But I won’t be talking with you in the privacy of my flat,” Sansa said a bit more firmly. “It’s not appropriate, uncle.”

“I am your family, Sansa!” Baelish had the nerve to look offended.

“Indeed, you are. And we can either talk here in front of Sandor, or it can wait for work.”

“What?” Littlefinger gasped. “Honestly, Sansa, where are your manners? I would never talk about your private issues in front of this… this...”

“Sandor Clegane,” Sansa finished. “You’ve been introduced already, don’t you remember? But if you don’t want to speak to me now, uncle, I’ll see you on Monday. Have a good day.”

Sansa was in a feisty mood and Sandor relished in watching her courteous rage, this time no fear of losing her ruining Sandor’s enjoyment. Sandor admired Sansa’s kindness and grace, but it was always amazing to see her set aside all her polite chirping and fight for her best interests. Granted, it usually played against Sandor’s own plans, but at least he didn’t have to worry so much about Sansa being used by some cunning bastard. 

“Wait!” Baelish was now genuinely shocked by Sansa’s brusque response. “Sansa, what’s happened to you? Your mother would be shocked, shocked at such rudeness!”

“And have you come to talk to me about something else than my mother being shocked, shocked?” 

“Sansa, I truly do need to speak with you in private.”

“You can tell me anything private in front of Sandor,” Sansa agreed.

Baelish huffed in annoyance. “It has come to my attention that someone filled a registration for a wedding of Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. That seems like an important information for the company and your associates, don’t you think, sweetling?”

”I assure you, uncle, that you are given all the information you need. Can I ask how it happened to come to your attention?”

“That’s of no consequence. The registration was made for Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and… and someone not deserving of such association.” Baelish made a point of ignoring Sandor’s presence.

Sandor’s laugh was half a growl. It was bloody amusing to watch Baelish set himself for Sansa’s fury. She’d been all worked up before and Sandor was glad that dear Littlefinger was there to willingly take all her anger on. It was truly kind of him, Sandor was scared of Sansa himself. People underestimated his little bird, they saw a polite girl, far too pretty to be clever. A girl taught by mother and septas to never speak out, a girl raised to have perfect manners and no opinions. But the little bird had officially grown some talons and it was bloody sexy.

“And who is a judge of that?” Sansa asked.

“You must understand, Sansa, a lady of your status has some responsibilities. It would be supremely ungrateful of you to throw away the legacy of your parents to marry some filthy dog.”

“I understand perfectly,” Sansa replied icily. “That’s the reason why I’d never marry anyone filthy,” she gave him a look that made it clear who exactly was filthy according to her.

“But sweetling, you were registered to marry Sandor Clegane!” Littlefucker finally said the name and Sandor rewarded him with a wicked grin. As far as Sandor was concerned, he wouldn’t mind if Baelish screamed that out for the whole world to hear. Sandor always wanted everybody to know that Sansa was taken. By him. Him!

“I am aware,” Sansa responded in calm, ladylike manner.

“Surely you don’t mean to marry him?” Baelish asked, appalled. “Sansa, that’s insane, how can you let this man… this monster even touch you? He worked in the army, he took money for killing people, don’t you understand? He enjoys killing people! Is this what you want to marry?”

“And how is it any of your business, Lord Baelish?” Sansa wanted to know.

“I am your uncle, Sansa, your mother’s dearest friend,” Littlefucker announced pompously. “If you don’t care about your parents, I am still here to keep their legacy alive.”

“Ah,” Sansa uttered. “And are you sure ogling their daughter’s body is exactly their legacy? Now, if you excuse me, dear uncle, I’d personally prefer to keep their legacy of love and honest work. And I’ve wasted too much time here, so I’d better get going.”

“Sansa, if you don’t see the reason, you will force me to inform your family!” Baelish warned her.

“Good,” the beauty agreed confidently. “While you are at it, you can tell them that I’m leaving for holiday with Sandor. We’re going to the Summer Isles, I’ll be all alone with him in one house and one bed. And while it has been a great pleasure to talk to you, uncle, as you see, we have to do some packing.”

“But...”

“Goodbye,” Sansa finished and strode off to the Red Keep.

“Bye!” Sandor waved at the man playfully, and obediently followed his little wolf, grinning at everyone. This, ladies and gentlemen, this was his woman. 

But Sansa’s expression changed as soon as the door closed behind her. “Oh no, oh, no, what have I done?” she started panicking. “I told him… oh, sweet Mother! Why haven’t you stopped me?”

Sandor stared at her, dumbfounded. “Why should I? You were bloody brilliant. I would have just punched the man, but this had a much more lasting effect. You’re my little queen.”

“Stop it. I was rude and you know it,” Sansa looked genuinely distraught, shaking. “The Seven have mercy, he’ll tell my family how rude I was! Everybody will be so disappointed.”

“Or proud,” Sandor suggested, hugging her to his chest. “Trust me, Sansa, you did nothing wrong, quite the contrary.”

“How can you say that?” her voice was muffled by his shirt.

“Because I was there and I saw how amazing you were,” Sandor smiled into her hair. He loved when Sansa acted like the powerful lady she was. It was always been bloody irresistible when the little fragile bird spoke up to the man like Sandor. When she got all fired up she could be so confident, so utterly unafraid of him. It was the best thing in the world, having a beautiful, delicate girl trust him, look at him and even oppose him without fear. And now, having seen Queen Sansa herself, he could imagine quite a few scenarios of her using that haughty tone on him. Seven hells. He really stood no chance with her.

“So we are going to the Summer Isles?” he chuckled at the memory.

“Yes, do you have any problem with it?” she lifted her chin up and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Not at all. But how did you know I rented a house for us? I haven’t told you we’d be all alone, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What?” Sansa breathed out. “What are you talking about?”

“But you’ve just told Littlefinger...”

“I was trying to shock him, I was lying!”

“No, you were not!” Sandor assured her.

Sansa frowned at him. “So you can’t even allow me that one lie, can you?”

“I told you you’re the worst liar,” Sandor reminded her affectionately.

And that’s how Littlefinger got them to the Summer Isles. Sansa and Sandor did indeed have a romantic little cottage by the sea all for themselves along with a small private beach. Sandor didn’t like sharing Sansa with anyone and having her all for himself for an entire week was the best holiday he could imagine. Well, Sansa in a bathing suit for a week all for himself could be even better. But the little bird didn’t want to go swimming.

Sandor had always enjoyed swimming. He spent a lot of time working out and water washing over his body, easing the tense muscles was exactly what he needed. The proximity of the sea was one thing he truly enjoyed about King’s Landing and the Summer Isles were even better than that, it was the best location for diving. Sansa didn’t look like a big fan of diving. Or swimming for that matter. Sandor stripped down as they walked onto the beach, but Sansa kept all her clothes on. “Aren’t you coming?” Sandor asked. 

Sansa didn’t respond, she was too busy staring into the sand.

“Little bird?” Sandor called. “Don’t you want to try out the water?”

“May be later,” she chirped.

Sandor scowled and he walked back to Sansa. “Is something wrong, little bird? Have I fucked up?”

“No, of course not, why would you think that?”

“Well, I’m somewhat gifted in that regard,” Sandor shrugged. “What is it then? The water is very shallow and warm, sweetheart, there is nothing to worry about.”

“I know, I’ll go. Later. I’ll go later,” Sansa smiled, still looking into the sand.

Sandor hated it when she avoided his gaze. He knew Sansa wasn’t repulsed by his face, but the old instincts told him otherwise. He wanted her to look at him and tell him whatever she felt. But then it hit him. Sansa had never actually seen him without clothes, dressed only in his swimsuit. She didn’t mind his face, but she didn’t want to look at his body. Seven hells, body had never even been Sandor’s insecurity, why didn’t she want to look at him?

“Look at me,” Sandor snarled, anger quickly rising in him. “Do I frighten you so much, girl? You’re thinking about Littlefinger’s words, aren’t you? I look like a killer. Like a monster,” he repeated accusingly.

Sansa’s eyes were full of bewilderment. “What are you talking about?” she gasped.

“You can’t even bear to look at me!”

“Of course I can,” she protested, her voice oddly breathy, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

A strange idea crossed Sandor’s mind and he took Sansa’s small hand into his own, placing it on his hairy chest. And Sansa blushed even more, looking away again.

“Do you… do you like it?” Sandor asked in disbelief. “Do you like what you see?” he asked in a low voice.

“No!” Sansa squeaked out. “I mean… Not that I don’t, I just don’t… I don’t think about it.”

Sandor barked out a laugh. His world was still full of sunshine and Sansa was still a hopeless liar. And what in the seven hells had those sodding septas taught the girl anyway? Sansa fucking Stark was aroused by the sight of the Hound so much she couldn’t even meet his eyes. Seven bloody hells. Sandor felt a heady rush of confidence and he pulled the girl against his body, shoved his fingers into her silky hair and kissed her fiercely, biting her plump lips, tasting her.

“My little bird,” his breath sounded ragged even to his own ears. “Don’t be ashamed, do you have any idea what the sight of you does to me?” he murmured. “As soon as we got here I noticed that rock over there, do you see it?” he pointed to the large boulder in the middle of the beach.

“Yes?” she said uncertainly.

“And do you know why I noticed it?”

She shook her head, confused.

“Because of you. Because it’s bloody perfect. Perfect to lay you down on it, get rid of all the bloody clothes you’re wearing and spread your legs. If I get on my knees, I’ll have your sweet cunt right in my face, you know?” he explained reasonably. “And I dream of your cunt every day, Sansa, I need it. This place is perfect for it. I could put your gorgeous legs over my shoulders and eat you all night long. But I wouldn’t let you come, you know why?”

She shook her head again, her face ablaze.

“Because you’re a polite little lady, Sansa, you should really learn how to ask courteously.”

“Ask?”

“Ask,” Sandor confirmed. “But if you beg me to fuck you well enough one day, I’ll give you all my cock. Can you feel it, little bird? Can you feel how hard it is?”

The girl gave him one more nod. 

“But you’re a good little lady, you’ll take it all in, won’t you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think...”

“Oh, you will,” Sandor let her know. “You’ll be so ready for me you’ll take it all in, you’ll see. I really should fuck you hard, for all this torture. I should pound my cock into you until you forget all your courtesies.”

Sansa was very tense, but she was idly running her hands over Sandor’s torso. He enjoyed that. He hadn’t realized before how much he wanted to be desired by her. But when Sansa’s hand moved down over his stomach, Sandor abruptly pulled away. “Tsk tsk.”

“What is it?”

“You know this has to wait until the wedding,” Sandor scolded Sansa seriously, shaking his head in a mock disagreement.

“Oh. Sorry, Sandor! I didn’t mean to...” she didn’t finish, clearly embarrassed.

Sandor smirked and bent down to kiss her again, appeasing his little lady, letting her know he’d only been jesting. But Sansa didn’t play fair all. As Sandor was getting all smug about Sansa being aroused by him, she suddenly dropped her sundress into the sand and stood in front of him just in her navy blue swimsuit. Seven hells. Going to Summer Isles wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

She was perfect. She was better than perfect, she was Sansa. Sandor wondered for a moment how he was ever going to survive this week, but then his brain got all muddled and he couldn’t do much thinking any more. Sansa’s skin was all smooth and soft and her breasts were bouncing in her swimsuit invitingly. And her pert little arse, seven hells, she had that, too, and Sandor couldn’t even kiss it. It wasn’t right. Sansa was wearing an annoyingly modest one-piece swimsuit and Sandor was both relieved and frustrated that he didn’t see more of her skin. It was always too difficult to keep his hands away from Sansa, but now that he knew what was actually hidden under her clothes, he would definitely go crazy. 

Surprisingly enough, he actually survived. The week even passed too fast. The couple spent a lot of time on the beach, but they talked a lot, walked a lot around the ancient towns and it gave Sandor the opportunity to force his thoughts away from Sansa’s glorious body. Sansa was smiling happily, taking photos at every step. And Sandor didn’t complain, he hated seeing himself, but seeing himself with Sansa made him oddly proud. Unfortunately, during all this time, he also realized that Sansa wouldn’t want to marry him yet, he couldn’t ask her again. Somehow he needed to be even more patient.

It really was a bloody torture, being alone with the girl without shagging her senseless. Sandor however withstood it like a buggering knight. A week. A week of innocent kisses and even more innocent touches. His right hand was exhausted at the end of it, his balls were about to burst, but Sansa was beaming with joy and that was all that mattered. She was convinced now that they could indeed make their relationship work. Without sex, of course. Everything without sex, without either of them getting naked and without anyone stroking anyone’s body. Yay.

The last day of their holiday was Sansa’s birthday and Sandor was determined to make it special. They started their day with lemon cakes, they went to visit the most romantic ruins the island had to offer and in the garden of a castle they even befriended local singing birds.

“Can you see the bird shaking his tail feathers?” Sandor asked.

“No, where is it, where is it?”

Sandor looked down at Sansa. She was too short to see much from where she was standing, so Sandor gently put hands around her waist and easily lifter the girl above his head. Sansa giggled, but she seemed rather pleased to be suddenly taller than anyone else.

“Can you see?” Sandor asked, watching the bird’s courtship display.

“Yes! They are so beautiful!” Sansa gushed. “Aww, look at him, he’s in love!”

“More like he wants to get laid, poor bugger.”

“Sandor!” Sansa playfully slapped his hand. “Let me down.”

Sandor obeyed her as usual, gently lowering her down onto the ground. She turned to face him then, smoothing her hand over his chest. She often did it. Hopefully it meant she liked at least one part of his body. 

“It’s been a wonderful trip, Sandor, I love it here so much.”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Sandor nodded.

“And something else,” Sansa added, blushing. “I…. I love you, Sandor,” she whispered. “I really do.”

Sandor smiled, glad she’d finally realized it, and he kissed her again, his hands cupping her face and hair. When he pulled away, Sansa was still starring at him expectantly, so he brought his lips on hers once more, plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth. She turned away from him then, quietly gazing into the garden, deep in thoughts.

They stayed like that for a long time. When Sansa didn’t tear her eyes away from all the colourful birds, Sandor hugged her from behind, tenderly kissing the top of her head. “I have something for you, little bird.”

That caught Sansa’s attention and she tensed a little. “You do?” she breathed out.

“I’m not sure whether you’ll like it...”

“I’m sure I will,” she whispered bashfully.

“Well, it’s silly, really,” Sandor admitted and placed a dainty necklace around her neck, fastening it with his shaking hands.

“Oh,” Sansa looked down at the present. “It looks like the Jonquil’s jewels! How did you know I liked it?”

“You’ve mentioned it,” Sandor shrugged. 

“But I thought you weren’t paying attention, I had no idea!”

“Yeah, I know it’s stupid to give jewels to you out of all people.”

All the little diamonds had come from the Starks’ oldest mine and Sandor was quite sure Sansa recognized it immediately. She certainly seemed to intuitively know everything about every diamond she encountered. But the collection had long been in Sandor’s family, getting bigger and better with every generation and one day it would return to the North, when Sandor would move there with Sansa. It had seemed like a nice gesture, using the stones, making a fancy necklace for his little bird, putting together symbols of their families. That had been back when Sandor had thought they were getting married. But now he was starting to suspect it might come off as his another desperate attempt. A desperate ugly dog trying to impress the queen of all precious stones with some old, small diamonds from her own mine. Not the brightest idea.

“Are you kidding?” Sansa interrupted his grim thoughts. “It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever got! Are those little birds?”

“Yeah, it’s not a replica of the necklace from the film, it was just inspired...”

“And a wolf,” Sansa interrupted him. “Look, there’s a tiny little wolf engraved here!”

“I know, a wolf with a dog,” Sandor smirked. “Don’t forget about the dog.”

“Aww, they are in love,” Sansa admired the artist’s work.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course, I do,” she looked up at him lovingly. “Thank you so much, Sandor.”

Sandor’s burnt lips formed a smile of self-satisfaction. He’d got it right this time, he really had.

“You forgot to ask, Sandor,” Sansa said softly, holding his hands, looking at him with heart-warming tenderness.

“Ask? Ask what?”

“You know… ask.”

“I didn’t want to ask anything.” At least he thought so. Unless there was yet another silly romantic tradition he didn’t know about. How many traditions could there really be?

Sansa blinked. “You didn’t?” she let go of his hands. “You’re not… you’re not going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me to marry you!” she cried.

“But… wait, what?” Sandor gaped at her. “But you didn’t want to marry me!”

“You never asked!”

“But…”

“Nevermind,” Sansa blurted, looking away, her eyes flooding with tears. “It was stupid of me, I’ve just had such an amazing time here and… and you’ve probably changed your mind anyway. Or I’ve ruined the idea of a wedding for you,” she sniffed. “Or both. And it’s too soon, really, it was stupid of me...” she started babbling. 

“Sansa, my love,” Sandor interrupted her, still in shock, quickly getting on one knee. “I was afraid to put my hopes up again, but you know I’ll always want to be by your side,” he caressed her cheek, which was for once almost at his eye level. “I want to keep you safe and happy, little bird, I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you. I want us to be a family. Forever. But will you? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she didn’t stop crying, quite the contrary. “I’ll marry you, Sandor I will!” she wept. “But my family has to accept you first. And it has to be a northern wedding, a normal wedding. A winter wedding. With my family. And guests. And dogs. And...”

“Alright, we’ll have the most northern wedding the world has ever seen.”

“And you want children, right?” she wanted to know before allowing herself to rejoice.

“Children with you,” he specified.

“Good,” Sansa glowed with excitement. “And puppies.”

“Lots of puppies.”

“But I will have to move to the North one day, Sandor,” she warned him.

“Northern puppies then,” Sandor smiled. “And we’ll bring the lemon cakes with us.”

“Yes!” Sansa jumped into his arms. “You’re so sexy when you talk like that,” she purred. 

Sansa was beaming with happiness and Sandor was perhaps, too. He pulled her possessively against his body, relishing in the feel of her. His bride. His future wife. The mother of his children. When she stopped chirping for a moment, Sandor finally got to kiss his bride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot for reading! I wish you all a very happy new year!


End file.
